Chapter 2: The Digital Lifeline
For a long moment, Alex could only stare at the soldier, his mind a howling vortex of denial and panic. Commodus. The name was a death sentence. The soldier, still kneeling, interpreted his silence as the stunned grief of a new orphan. It was a mask Alex's stunned mind gratefully seized upon.
He needed to get that soldier out of the tent. Now.
He dredged up a memory of some historical drama he'd once watched, forcing his new, younger body into a posture of authority. He gave a sharp, dismissive wave, a gesture he hoped looked regal rather than like a man shooing away a fly. "Leave me," he commanded, the Latin words feeling clumsy and alien on his tongue. "I would mourn alone."
The legionary seemed to find this perfectly acceptable. He bowed his head even lower. "As you command, Caesar." With a final, respectful glance, he backed out of the tent, letting the canvas flap fall shut, plunging Alex back into the flickering lantern light.
The second the soldier was gone, the mask of the stoic prince shattered. Alex scrambled across the tent on his hands and knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grabbed the black nylon handle of his bag and dragged it into the center of the tent, his real hands, his 21st-century hands, recognizing the familiar texture and weight. It felt like an anchor in a roiling sea of madness.
He fumbled with the heavy-duty zipper, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline. Inside, nestled amongst his travel essentials—a now-useless passport, a half-eaten bar of dark chocolate, a power bank—was his salvation. A sleek, matte black laptop, built to military specifications. Ruggedized, waterproof, and, most importantly, equipped with a state-of-the-art, self-contained AI.
He snatched it from the bag, his movements frantic. He flipped open the lid. The screen glowed to life, a perfect rectangle of cool, blue light in the ancient darkness. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. In the corner of the screen, a small icon mocked him with its stark reality: a battery symbol, filled to just over three-quarters. 78%.
A cold dread coiled in his gut, a chilling counterpoint to the surge of relief. The laptop was alive, but it was on a timer. Every second it was on, it was dying.
He grabbed his wireless earbuds from their charging case—another small, impossible miracle of future technology—and fitted one into his ear. He tapped a shortcut on the screen.
"Lyra?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Lyra, can you hear me? Run a full diagnostic. Tell me what's going on."